


Impulse I and II

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: It seemed like a good idea at the time.





	Impulse I and II

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Impulse by Te

Impulse  
by Te  
12/98  
Disclaimers: Do I wish they were mine? Every damned night.   
Spoilers: Vague reference to FTF.  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for poor language and m/m smut.  
Summary: It seemed like a good idea at the time.  
Author's Note: Several months of vague Sk/K fantasies and attempt number two to quit smoking turned into this. Hopelessly AU, but I'd like to point out that both this and its sequel were written well before S.R. 819... *sigh*  
Acknowledgments: To Sister Blue, for being a lovely addition to any soul. To Kass, for helpful suggestions and fine, fine audiencing, to a certain dearly departed list for love and encouragement, and to Rye and Pretty Pretty Pares for fine beta. All remaining mistakes are entirely my own fault. 

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Impulse  
by Te  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex wasn't entirely sure why he was in Walter Skinner's apartment. It was cold, yes. His laziness in acquiring new apartments in the D.C. area had resulted in his being left -- albeit temporarily -- homeless when Mrs. Jerzyk's mislaid cigarette had left the entire tenement (including Mrs. Jerzyk herself) sludgy ash amid the impure January snows, yes. He'd wanted to be warm for a night, yes.

But Crystal City...

The last time he'd been here had been a... lark. He'd been shitfaced, out of work after the Brit's untimely demise, and out of cigarettes. In a gin-soaked haze, he'd decided that, ultimately, all he really needed was something to suck on. In retrospect, it hadn't been all that difficult to file said lark under "half-assed death wishes" in his mind, but the night itself had been... good. 

A relatively easy break-in, the heavy silence of a Skinner at rest, his own pounding heart louder than his progress up the stairs. And in the heat of late July, Skinner had been sleeping covered by nothing more substantial than a pair of old boxers. Slipping onto the bed had been an exercise in terrified exhilaration. Slipping the head of the cut, nicely-defined cock into his mouth had been an act of near-instinct.

His thoughts on the way to the complex had been nowhere near clear, but the intention had, apparently, burned itself on Alex's brain at some point: Get in, suck cock, see what happens next. 

What happened next had been a sleepy groan utterly at odds with the sparklingly alert expression on Skinner's face. Alex met the blackly ophidian gaze with a flare of unsatisfied want in his belly that he did his best to transfer into the restless motions of lips and tongue.

Catching the man asleep had been a good, useful move on his part, Alex decided. Skinner's cock was hard on his tongue, leaking salt and mildly gamy fluid, delicious. The sensation was of that needful simplicity that speaks of inchoate addiction and shorts out the forebrain in favor of sluttish, animal abandon.

Alex hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes and taken the man deep until he felt the broad, ungentle fingers in his hair, holding him still. Holding him close for the ragged thrusts of a Skinner in need.

It was a happy thought, and Alex hmmed his pleasure, slipping his hand along one lightly furred thigh, up and up until he could cradle the soft skin of Skinner's balls, roll them lightly, feel them tighten. Skinner was going to come in his mouth, and the only thing Alex felt about the prospect was the joy unique to the completion of any goal. 

"Krycek--"

The use of the name could have broken the spell, but the rough stretch of his throat, the throb of the other man's cock... it was all more than enough to keep him in that safe space. Keep him down and sucking. Skinner came hard after only a few more thrusts, and Alex pulled off just enough to taste, resisting the near spastic press of the other man's hand on the back of his skull. 

Dirty and good and when the pulses had finished, Alex dutifully lapped away those few drops that had escaped his greedy mouth, then rested his forehead lightly in the hollow of Skinner's pelvis. A few moments of harsh breathing on both their parts and then Alex became aware that the other man's hand had never quite left when the fist tightened in his hair and hauled his head upright.

"What the hell are you doing here, Krycek?"

"Sucking your cock."

"I hope you don't think this means--"

"I got what I wanted. Just let me go and I'll be out of your... hair."

Skinner's expression was bemused through the satiation and basic bulldog anger. He seemed puzzled as to whether he should take the opportunity to ask more questions or perhaps just punch Alex in the face while it was handy. All he did, though, was to shake his head briefly and release Alex's hair. 

Alex ran his hand over his tender scalp, not missing the brief shudder of the other man's thigh as the cuff of his jacket ran over it, and turned to leave without another word. All the way downstairs he could feel Skinner listening for trouble, and had to restrain the urge to graffito the walls with his dripping cock. It was difficult, but he made it out the door without incident. 

And then went back to the roach-infested hole of the moment and jerked off while trying to imagine the feel of blunt, impersonal fingers probing his ass. 

And then proceeded to forget all about it until just last night. It had always been easy to let his mind become a sieve. Sometimes too easy...

But there had been cold, there had been homelessness, there had been a vague sense of wanton mischief. But all he'd done upon breaking in this time was to curl up on Skinner's couch and wait for... whatever. When he'd awakened there'd been a blanket tucked loosely around his body. And a large, expressionless Skinner staring down at him with his arms crossed. 

On most people, such a profound lack of obvious emotion could be described as bland, or dull. Alex was willing to concede that unfortunate positioning may have had something to do with his reaction to that face, but there was a distinct loom to the man, a sense of impending... *something*... that was impossible to ignore. Merely a function of positioning or no, it was certainly inspiring. 

"We're having oatmeal."

Alex blinked, tried to think of an appropriate response, gave up on the attempt as pointless, and simply said, "OK."

And they'd had oatmeal -- Alex with an amount of cream and pecans that even *he'd* felt was moderately obscene -- and now Alex was standing in front of the kitchen counter, wordlessly, mindlessly, awkwardly drying the dishes Skinner, beside him, had washed. There were times he wished he understood his own impulses better, if for no other reason than to have something in his head beyond 'huh?' at times like these. 

He shrugged internally and nudged the other man lightly, eyeing the dried bowls pointedly. 

"Third cabinet from the left, next to the dinner plates."

That little voice was still whispering of confusion, and there was a distinct prickle beginning at his nape, but Alex carefully tucked the dishes between his arm and his body and put them away. At some point, the What Happens Next impulse had crept back and Alex was in its thrall. 

As he was placing the utensils neatly back in the drawer, Skinner asked,

"What are you doing here *this* time?"

"I wanted to get some sleep, and I did. Breakfast was nice, though." Alex was fully aware of how annoying his tone was.

"Why *here*? What makes you think you can just come here and... take what you want?"

Brief hesitation in the low, earthen rumble of Skinner's voice and that was all it took to make Alex turn just enough to eye the other man from beneath his lashes. "I take what I can get... Walter."

Skinner lowered his brows darkly for a moment, and the next thing Alex was aware of was a rough hand circling his throat, not lifting him but poised to do so. There was a thumb pressing with mild intent on his windpipe, and Alex wasn't sure whether it was the sensation or his own helpless cough that jolted his cock to shameless, joyful life. 

Alex met Skinner's gaze as steadily as he could, but was unable to fully resist the urge to let his vision blur around the edges. It wasn't that Skinner was cutting off his oxygen so much as he was cutting off all drives toward machismo. The man was obviously feeling alpha malish, and the best way to cope with that had *always* been a timely surrender. Of sorts. 

And then he was being spun to face the counter, his jeans pushed down to puddle around his ankles. And Skinner had one hand on the back of his neck and the other was pressing suggestively against his boxers, sliding up and down the crack of his ass. 

Jesus.

"So that's your philosophy, Krycek?"

"Hmmm...?" He was quite sure he sounded like an idiot, and sincerely hoped the way he was bucking back against the hand was compensating for it. 

Down went the boxers and the marble of the countertop was cool and intoxicating against the head of his cock. And Skinner's thumb never stopped teasing his entrance. 

"Take what you can get, whenever you can get it?"

It sounded pretty good to Alex. "Sounds pretty good to me..."

His IQ was somewhere in the vicinity of his pants but he just couldn't care. There was some worry about the roughness of the inevitable coming fuck, but he was quickly losing concern for such niceties. 

Skinner's hot mouth on the side of his throat, Skinner's other hand moving down to his waist, cruelly bypassing Alex's twitching cock to slide up under his sweater and play with his nipples. Alex moaned and twisted for more contact. 

"Are you always such a slut?"

It could've been, hell, probably had been intended as an insult. Perfect butch behavior toward those men said butches couldn't help but want to fuck through the nearest wall... but the voice was too hoarse, and the hands were too intent on teasing Alex's wanting flesh for him to take the question even remotely seriously. 

Alex snickered breathlessly and continued to writhe. "No, Walt, you just... just *do* something to me." Just enough truth to the statement to make his gut clench wonderfully, just enough assholery to make Walter chuckle against his shoulder and bite him hard.

It was precisely this sort of occasion that made it so *difficult* for Alex to resist his basic impulsiveness. He made a mental note to worry about that later, though, because suddenly there was slick wetness against his ass. Alex's knees nearly buckled at the simultaneous urges to giggle and moan. 

"You brought... brought *lube* to breakfast?"

The immediate response was a blunt, yet curiously gentle finger up his ass --

"Oh fuck--"

\-- the secondary: a low, darkly cheerful whisper in his ear of, "I used to be a boy scout."

It was the perfect opportunity for some mildly perverse commentary on the supposed nature of Walter's time in short pants and sashes, but all his throat seemed willing to provide was a series of short, stuttery groans, roughly in time to the fingers -- two now -- twisting and tormenting him.

Walter appeared to have no interest in moving on, and Alex began to wonder if it was his own fault. As much as he enjoyed being fucked with actual cocks, there was certainly nothing particularly inferior about skillful fingers, dildoes, bottles, whatever. Alex knew that, if there had been a mirror in front of him, he'd be assaulted with the sight of, well, a slut. He was working himself hard on Walter's fingers. 

Oblivious to the world, in motion for nothing but his own pleasure. Dimly, through his own haze, he could hear Walter whispering obscene encouragement, do it, fuck yourself, faster, and it was all just fine for Alex, because he was getting precisely what he'd wanted -- at some point. The fact that he couldn't pin down precisely *when* he'd decided that he wanted to do this, be this, for Walter was entirely irrelevant. 

It was happening with precise correctness, and that was all that mattered. Alex decided vaguely that the implementation of plans for vague, open-ended goals was a better idea than he'd previously allowed and continued to let his body do everything he wanted to, agreeing with everything Walter said through the motion of his hips and whatever wordless cries he could manage.

"... have to fuck you now..."

The words sank in, but Alex still whimpered a little at the loss of those fingers. Ached at his own need for *more*, tossing his head, fully aware that he looked like little more than a fly-maddened horse at the gate. Finally, finally, Alex felt the head of Walter's gloved cock pressed against him.

"Yes..."

That was a definite word, and he was proud of himself for its production. Firm hands on his hips, steadying him for the slow, inexorable assault on his body. Alex strained against the pressure, desperate to push himself fast and hard onto Walter's cock, but Walter wouldn't allow it. He'd have bruises tomorrow, and wondered if he still owned any jeans low-slung enough to show them off, somewhere. 

Inch by slow inch, and it occurred to him through the vivid mental image of a Walter straining and gasping --he could hear the gasps -- that this slow torture was for no one's benefit but Walter's. He didn't want to come too fast, and that was both gratifying and annoying.

It was nice to know he was just that sexy, but, as far as Alex was concerned, if Walter came too fast he could just jerk off, secure in his well-fucked condition. Few decent men seemed to understand that, though, and the rest... the rest didn't bear deep thought. 

"Walter, please--"

Brief, painful tightening on his hipbones and then Walter was sinking in the rest of the way with a glide that lost some of its smoothness with speed. Perfect. Alex steadied himself on his hand and breathed deep, savoring the brief space of seconds he knew he'd be allowed. But Walter yanked him back up against his chest and held him there, slick hand slipping down to Alex's cock. Squeezing and pulling with expert strokes.

Alex cried out and let his head fall back against one broad shoulder, slipped his hand back to brace himself on Walter's thigh and began to fuck himself. Walter caught his rhythm and took over immediately, moving one hand back down to hold onto Alex's hip again while he thrust. 

Stroke, snap, and roll. These were the only things that moved through Alex's mind as Walter set to work. He had no idea what he was doing there, and he had no idea what had taken him so long. Walter took his mouth suddenly, awkwardly, and Alex sucked the man's tongue happily, moving his hips in practiced glides, moaning continuously.

Walter's cock was a force unto itself, a skewer, a pivot to some small universe of dark need and short-circuited rationality. It was the only home Alex had ever wanted, a place where responsibility, speech, anything and everything beyond flesh and teeth and muscle was rendered useless, if not entirely illegal. 

There was no room here for thought and if Alex had wanted to say anything at all, Walter's bite to his throat was more than enough warning away from such things.

A little bliss for a moment of forever, a deep thrust to catch Alex where he needed it most, and Walter was jerking his dick faster and harder in a way that spoke volumes of the man's own proximity to the brink. 

The shout at his ear was a shock to his system, pulling out an answering call of affirmation and pleasure in this, just this and Alex wanted their corner of reality to fold in on itself and pocket, create their own endless present of musk and sweat and shuddering wails, but instead lost himself to Walter's complete loss of control as he came. 

No rhythm to the thrusts beyond that of the other man's undoubtedly irregular heartbeat, and this, *this* was what Alex always craved -- the undeniable proof of his power over powerful men in their helpless grasps at his body, in their mindless orgasms. 

Always perfect, always enough, and at the mildly convulsive but clearly restrained last squeeze of his cock, Alex followed suit, screaming.

Immediately boneless, Alex nearly slumped to the floor before Walter caught and held him close again, shaking himself. They stood there for long moments of caught breath and shivers. Gradually, Alex became aware of the ticking of the kitchen clock and struggled a bit in the other man's grasp. Walter tightened his hold for an intriguing moment before letting him go. 

Alex bent dizzily to pull up his boxers and jeans, didn't bother with refastening them just yet. Walter just kicked off his own jeans, but did pull up the boxers. Alex indulged himself with a long look at the well-muscled thighs, the beautifully defined torso beneath the other man's tee -- hopelessly translucent in several places with their sweat. It probably took longer than he would've liked to admit to reach Walter's eyes, dark as ever and --mostly -- unreadable.

Alex licked his lips once before speaking, was rewarded with a lovely narrowing of the near-black gaze.

"So, Walter... did you get what you wanted?"

Slow, wicked smile and Alex was shivering again.

"I'm not through with you yet... Alex."

The new year was definitely shaping up pleasantly...

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

 

* * *

 

Impulse II: Taken  
by Te  
1/99  
Disclaimers: They belong to Fox, 1013, Chris Carter, probably a whole bunch of other folks. In any case, I'm not making one thin dime off of this.  
Spoilers: None. Same hopeless AU as "Impulse," because the sixth season probably didn't happen.  
Summary: And the rat came back, he just couldn't stay away....  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for language, m/m interaction.  
Author's Note: Dreams, lots of dreams. Another shameless PWP.  
Acknowledgments: For Cynthia, in payment for lovely Nick- and DDage. Thank you, thank you, *THANK YOU*. And to the wondrous, brilliant, talented Rye for beta -- I only hope I didn't interrupt any stories.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Impulse II: Taken  
by Te  
  
http://strangeplaces.net/te/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walter stood on his balcony and took a deep breath. This far up, there was no car exhaust, no garbage, no human detritus... Not that Crystal City was ever particularly filthy, but sometimes these things were more noticeable.

Today there had been a light dusting of snow, too light to be anything but blackened slush by the time it hit the ground. Walter had driven to work, cursing himself quietly all the while for not having his coffee outdoors before leaving. The tiny flakes would have sparkled against the grey morning sky.

There were times Walter missed the empty places of his youth, the stretch of earth from his feet to the horizon, flat and clear. No sounds or smells but what had been provided, nothing at all but him and the planet, it seemed, and he knew how to be unobtrusive in his passing. It was simple respect, and, though Walter knew his belief in it was just another brand of faith for the aging, he made no attempts to shake himself loose.

He was nothing but himself, and that was fine.

Especially with the chill night air bracing him to his toes.

Especially with the man waiting beside him.

He chanced a look at the man who had -- perhaps too quickly -- lost Krycek to Alex and met calm, olive eyes. It was hard to remember they were of a height until a moment like this one. Too many of their encounters had been hopelessly corrupted with power games.

However, if he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit this time was no different. Alex was on his turf, Alex only had one arm, and, to the best of Walter's knowledge, Alex had left his only guns on the sideboard. Alex also was clearly aware that if Walter was going to do anything at all he would've done it that first time Alex had shown up to blow him. At least he would have afterward.

And Walter was staring at the too-pretty face, waiting for the coquette of machine oil and unpredictable aggression he knew lurked just beneath the surface of fine bones. Alex's presence wiped years of respectability away with a casual hand and a smile less confident than he would perhaps have Walter believe. And that... that was enough for Walter to welcome each visit with a diamond-hard cock, if not necessarily open arms.

"Why are you here, Alex?"

"I like your silence. I want you."

The answer came without hesitation, without shame or equivocation, and Walter nodded. Turned back to the night. It shouldn't have been a surprise that Alex was a man who, apparently, never bothered to question his own wants long enough to *think*, not with the ugly contraption of plastic where warm, solid flesh used to be. It still was a surprise, though.

Or perhaps it was the realization of himself as the focus of that want. It was possible that Alex craved some sort of punishment, but that would imply the presence of shame. He could feel the other man's eyes rove his body, and Alex never reacted to his caresses with anything but enthusiasm, be they harsh or helplessly, dangerously gentle.

Slut, then. But not a one-note slut. A few months of these encounters, and every time Walter showed any signs of being willing, Alex would make love to him, lingering here and there before taking him deep, one way or another.

"Are you fucking Mulder?"

"No."

Never? Not anymore? Did it matter? Walter found himself wondering if he was a replacement lover. Simpler than Mulder. Easier. The thought made him chuckle, and he turned to see Alex gazing at him quizzically, eyes bright with incipient humor. He wanted to share the joke.

Dangerous, dangerous, and Walter brought a hand up to Alex's face instead, pressing his thumb against the somehow compactly lovely mouth. Not generous without provocation. He let his thumb drag to the corner of the lower lip, not bothering to ease the pressure. Alex did nothing but stare at him. Waiting. Letting himself be marred by Walter's passage.

His cock twitched from somewhere behind the now seemingly endless layers of fine wool and cotton, and Alex seemed to feel it, too, because he finally turned into Walter's touch, pushing his lips forward into something not *quite* a kiss before shaking it off and moving closer.

Holding distance, and Walter complied, pulling Alex to him, letting him feel his cock. Alex's eyes slipped closed and he leaned in further, molding himself to Walter's body with a soft half-murmur that made him want to grab the other man by the nape of the neck and tilt him back for a brutal kiss.

So he did, and Alex complied greedily, opening his mouth for plundering, slipping his arm around Walter and holding on tight. Instant surrender and it wasn't long before he was standing straight again, spinning Alex against the balcony door. Walter slid his hand down to cup the hot bulge in the other man's pants and squeezed, shivering a little when Alex groaned into his mouth, despite knowing it would happen.

Walter pulled out of the kiss and was treated to the sight of Alex leaning forward a bit, following his mouth for a beautiful moment before jerking himself back. This could, conceivably, all be some game on the other man's part. For all Walter knew, Alex could have been a master at this sort of thing, a man who had turned his body into a machine, his responses automatic. For now, though, the body and its responses belonged to him, and Walter had every intention of taking advantage.

"Bedroom."

Alex looked at him and grinned, face flushed and lips swollen. "And you wonder why I keep coming back."

Walter squeezed again, began to rub. Alex bucked into his hand and moaned, seemingly content to stay right there and come in his pants -- if that's what Walter wanted him to do. It occurred to him that the sound in his ears that *wasn't* the pound of blood was the ring of warning bells. Lots and lots of warning bells.

"Mmm... Walter..."

Walter paused, suddenly aware that he was moving in to attack that mouth again.

"You gonna fuck me right here?"

Challenge, plea, speculation... Walter forcibly moved himself away from Alex, happy to be able to justify how cold he was with the sight of the other man's shiver. Alex pushed himself off the door and back into Walter's space, dipping in to nuzzle his throat for a moment before turning to go in.

Walter followed, admiring the jeans-clad ass in front of him. Alex was walking slowly, and whether or not it was meant to be a tease, it was pleasant to watch. In the bedroom, Alex made his way unerringly through the darkness and switched on the bedside lamp. Began to shrug off his jacket and looked a question at Walter.

Yes, he *did* want to undress him. He pushed the jacket off Alex's shoulders, letting it trap the other man for a moment and biting his smile. Alex was warm beneath his clothes and Walter wanted to get there as soon as possible. The jacket came off, the sweater was next, followed by two t-shirts --

"It *is* winter."

\-- and then Walter dove to take a nipple between his lips. Alex's fingers curled around the base of his skull, holding him there through laps, sucks, and increasingly harder bites. He was moaning, swaying on his feet a little, and Walter let his hands roam down the lean muscle to the waistband of the other man's jeans. Felt the skin jump a little as he slipped his fingers inside and ran them teasingly around his waist.

He waited just long enough to get the fly open before pushing Alex back on the bed roughly. He bounced, laughed, sat up to yank off his boots. Alex's every movement screamed "yes, *please*," and it was a wonderful thing to behold. And so was the spreading redness -- it would bruise a little, he was sure -- on his chest. The prosthesis had to go, though, and he nodded at it while undoing his own belt.

Alex unbuckled it with practiced ease, rotating the stump in a way that made Walter wonder when he'd ever gotten used to the sight. He pushed the thought down and crouched to tug down Alex's jeans, boxers following easily. The soft light shone golden on the other man's body, highlighting a clearly defined set of dark fingerprints on the slim hips.

Walter hadn't been able to ease off last time, body refusing to believe that anything as sweet as Alex's ass could possibly be his without a struggle.

Walter didn't stint himself the enjoyment of seeing his marks on Alex. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, and he was, after all, an agent of said law.

Alex writhed beneath his touch, arching into each caress, head thrown back against the pillows. Walter stood up and quickly removed the rest of his clothes, regretful when the pale throat lost its strained curve to allow Alex to watch, but drinking in the other man's hunger. Alex ran his own hand down to his cock and stroked, licking his lips, fully focused on Walter's body.

He wanted to jerk off onto the pale skin. He wanted to straddle Alex's chest and fuck his mouth roughly. He wanted to pin him to the bed and *have* him, keep him there for his pleasure, let himself forget Alex's own in the simple faith that the man's whore of a body would find it anyway with every bite, every thrust.

Alex made it so *easy*--

The lube was in his hand seemingly by magic, the dimly distressing thought that he'd have to buy more soon easily dismissible in the spread of those thighs for him. He eased the condom on and breathed deeply. Apparently he was taking too long because Alex eased a leg around him and pulled him closer.

A rare show of demand and it struck Walter suddenly that it wasn't just want on Alex's part, but some brand of need as well. He looked into eyes gone dark, cheer still visible on the edges and shook his head slightly. Not a thing -- a man who couldn't keep himself from coming back. Desire too strong to be avoided, no matter how stupid. Confidence in nothing but the fact that once Walter got his cock up Alex's ass it wouldn't be going anywhere until after he'd been thoroughly fucked.

Walter didn't know whether to laugh or scream at the fact that he knew -- *knew* -- that Alex had intended no such thing. Ease. Alex wanted this to be easy, if for no other reason than to be able to keep coming back.

"Walter, please --"

Not afraid to beg for it. He didn't think he wanted to be Alex's safe place, and Walter got the slick on his fingers finally, pushing one in far too roughly. Alex did nothing but plant his feet and push himself down on it, and the unwelcome idea that the other man was probably more than accustomed to such treatment was making this more difficult by the second.

Walter had too much pride to be just another fuck in a warm room and he eased off the assault, slowing and gentling but not stopping. Scorn, abuse was one thing, clearly sexualized. If Alex caught the scent of pity he wouldn't stay...

He leaned in and took the willing mouth, swallowing every small moan and wondering dimly if he should try to talk to the other man, and if his hesitation about doing so had more to do with not wanting to rock the boat than doubts about his conclusions. But Alex's hand was roaming his back, fingers splayed, rubbing and pressing. And Alex's kisses were wonderful, pleas for more without words.

Walter knelt up and slipped another finger in, aiming for the gland with each out-stroke, petting Alex's thigh with his other hand. When Alex opened his eyes again Walter knew he was ready and eased out carefully. He held the other man's gaze while he slicked his cock, and moved in to nudge at his entrance. Alex fisted the sheets and caught Walter with his thighs, grinning again.

The first few moments were always the hardest, a forceful reminder of high school embarrassments and the difficulty of retaining control in the face of such *willingness*. And Alex was so damned *hot* inside, sensation too intense to be precisely pleasure, but Walter doubted he'd ever be this addicted to true pain.

Head in and Alex didn't hesitate, pulling him the rest of the way in a slow glide --

"Christ you feel so fucking good..."

\-- until Walter was flush with his ass. Sheathed inside and Walter braced himself above the other man and began to thrust, leaning in to gnaw at Alex's throat. Distracting himself from the tight heat with the taste of clean sweat, sharp and high, and the vibration of Alex's soft cries against his mouth.

But when he started moaning Walter's name steadily he had to kneel up, run his hand over the new marks, take the blood-dark cock in his fist and squeeze as Walter began fucking him in earnest. Long strokes gaining speed and losing control.

Walter buried himself in the other man again and again, trying to angle his thrusts for more than just his own pleasure, but unable to keep that much control for long. The haze descending over his vision was unstoppable, the urge to let loose and fuck Alex as hard as he was begging for irresistible.

Dangerous, wrong, stupider by the minute but it was too good to give up. Possession indeed, and the way Alex's explosive orgasm compelled his own made Walter want to chain him to his balcony again. Chain him to *something*, anyway, because he could hear himself yelling and no one who could make him do that should be allowed to leave...

After, Walter let his full weight rest on Alex's body, post-coital laziness meshing neatly with the need to compel resistance.

"Walter, this is nice but I can't breathe...."

He smiled into the other man's shoulder. "Maybe I plan on killing you."

"Mmmm... well there are certainly far less pleasant ways to do *that*... Smother me, big man."

The smirk in the hoarse, husky voice was close enough to what Walter wanted that he rolled off. They lay there for a while, Walter automatically listening for how long it took the other man's breathing to slow and gradually drifting into that half-lidded region of near sleep.

"It worries you that I... that I'm like this for you, doesn't it?"

And *that* was enough to make his eyes fly back open. Alex snorted.

"I thought so. Look, it's sex."

"I noticed that."

"Is there any reason I shouldn't... enjoy myself?"

Walter turned to study the other man. Alex had plastered on his most earnest, innocent expression. 'How could there be, Walter mine?' it seemed to say. The urge to smack the other man was a quiet, familiar thing. "No."

Alex grinned at him, dove in to lick his mouth but pulled back before he could be kissed. "So stop... fretting."

He grunted noncommittally. "Stay."

Alex searched his eyes for a moment before relaxing himself visibly. "All right." And, without another word, he reached to turn off the lamp.

And moved closer.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~


End file.
